The Wine of Youth (13 page)

“Jimmy is my oldest,” she said. “I want him to understand these things.”

“Ye gods, Dino,” I said, “I wasn't born yesterday!”

Dino was still skeptical.

“It's okay,” I said. “You can say anything you want in front of me, Dino. I'm fourteen, going on fifteen.”

This did not fetch him, either, and the three of us lapsed into hopeless silence.

I said: “Look, Mamma. We're not getting anywhere, just sitting here. Let's have some action. What do you intend to do? A man like that, I think you ought to sue him for divorce.”

Mamma turned green at the word. She looked at me in horror. Right away I knew I shouldn't have said that, because we were Catholics, and in our Church there is no such thing as a divorce. I felt Dino's kindly gaze, the trace of a smile on his lips. You see, he seemed to say, you don't understand such things after all.

“Okay, wise guy Dino,” I said. “You're so damn smart, what would
you
do?”

“A divorce!” Mamma gasped. “Did you hear what he said, Dino? Just a child, and talking like that!”

“Somebody's got to do
something!
” I said.

“Shame on you!” Mamma said. “Your own father and mother. Shame on you!”

“I thought you was sore at him,” I said.

“Shame on you,” Mamma said. “Shame, shame, shame!”

“Shhhh,” Dino said. “Listen.”

In the distance we could hear it, faintly, but growing louder, someone—no one but Papa—whistling
“La Donna é mobile
” then the boom-boom of heels on the front porch, the turn of the lock, and we craned our necks to watch him enter the living room. Before closing the door, he hesitated. We saw his face, reddish, gay, stimulated, his eyes as bright as a squirrel's. He wasn't exactly drunk, but the tilt of his hat and the swagger of his shoulders told us he had not spared the Burgundy.

“Hello!” he waved. “Hello, hello, hello! And how's my happy family tonight? My sweet-tempered wife, my angelic children?”

“Woooo,” Mamma groaned. “The beast that he is!”

“So Dino's here too!” Papa said. “Good old Dino, close friend of the family. He's here too.”

He leaned in the doorway, a hand on his hip, his hat tilted back. He winked at me, but Mamma watched me closely and I was afraid to wink back.

“Please don't tell me where you slept last night,” Mamma said. “Please don't. I'm just your wife. I have no right to question you.”

“Oh!” Papa said. “So you want to be sarcastic!”

Mike and Tony came to the bedroom door. “Hey, Papa,” Tony said. “Kin we have a dime?”

Papa turned. “Kin you have a dime! You can have
ten
dimes. Here!”

He handed Tony a dollar bill, and Tony accepted it fearfully, backing away, excited and in doubt, the dollar bill like something incredible in his hands. We saw him run, and then we heard him squeal with joy as he leaped into bed, Mike and Hugo following. We listened to them, Hugo barking, Mike shouting: “I get half, I get half!”

“Who loves you the most?” Papa shouted. “Your father or your mother?”

“Our father!”

Grinning, Papa faced Mamma.

“There,” he said, opening his hands. “You see?”

Mamma's rage nearly tore her apart. She stood trembling at the sink, biting her lips. “You—you—you vagabond! You—you—you dog, animal!”

She turned in a circle, seeking something, her hands groping for anything in reach. They came upon the soap dish over the sink, and in a flash she grabbed the big White King bar and heaved it. Papa grunted when the bar hit him squarely in the chest, then it bounded to the floor. He was so startled it sobered him. Still Mamma turned round and round, her hands searching again.

“So that's how it is!” Papa said. “So that's the thanks I get for sweating my life away!”

He was backing away as he said it, for Mamma had found the salt and pepper shakers on the stove. Dino jumped up to stop her, but thought it advisable to duck aside as her arm swung. The shakers shot through space, far over Papa's head, and Papa kept backing toward the front door, his head covered defensively, like a boxer's, shouting in Italian to Dino: “You saw this, Dino! You bear witness to the fact that she attacked me in my own home!”

Mamma darted into the pantry and emerged with her hands full of cups and saucers. Papa bolted and ran for the front door.
“You saw it, Dino! You saw it all!”

As he disappeared, Mamma collapsed like a ruin, her body shuddering. She buried her face, and her sobs made the table tremble. Dino bent to comfort her, but she shook her head and asked to be left alone. Her grief filled the room.

“Little Maria,” Dino whispered. “My own little Maria. Do not cry, little one. All will be well.”

Mamma sat up, blinked the tears away, and blew her nose delicately into the hem of her apron. Dino too began to cry. One look at his wet eyes and Mamma moaned and let herself go again. They both wept, Mamma gasping and choking, Dino in silence, swallowing his misery. Pretty soon I was crying with them, not for Mamma but for Dino: because he was such a good little man, because he was so fond of Mamma and had always seen her suffer, without being able to do anything about it. He took one of her hands in his white fists and gently stroked the calluses that had come with years of housework.

“Weep not, little Maria. We will solve this together. God will help us.”

“What can God do? It's him, Dino. And that woman. That terrible
puttana!
”

Dino blew his nose and picked up his hat.

“There is a way,” he said. “Somehow we will find one.”

On the way out he patted my shoulder: my crying had pleased him. “Good boy, Jimmy.” Quietly he walked through the house to the front door. In a moment he returned, and I was laughing and crying, because he walked away barefoot, and I had to clench my teeth to keep from laughing while he put on his socks and shoes. Then he walked away again, and I heard his feet in the street.

I tried to make Mamma go to bed, but she hid her face and pushed me away with one hand. I undressed and crawled into bed. Hugo was in my place, chewing the tattered pillow case. I kicked him out, and he crawled under the bed, dragging his victim with him. After a while the kitchen light went out, and I knew Mamma sat in the darkness. Faintly I heard her crying. I felt I should be crying too, and I tried to make the grief come, but there was none, until I thought of what would happen
to us if Papa really went away, how we would be poor and other kids would laugh at our old clothes, and as I fell asleep I felt so sorry for myself I made the pillow sticky with tears.

Shouts awoke me, feet stamping, the slamming of doors, laughter, someone singing. Lights burst on in the middle of the house. We kids sat up. It was three o'clock in the morning, and the singer was Papa, the song was “Here Comes the Bride,” and the laughter was Coletta's.

We slipped out of bed and went to the door just as Mamma appeared from the kitchen, her eyes like bacon.

“Welcome to my house!” Papa shouted. “The future Mrs. Dino Rossi!”

They marched in, Papa's arm locked inside Coletta's. Coletta's chin was high, her eyes defiant. Behind them was Dino, and he seemed scared to death.

“Get your coat,” Papa said to Mamma. “They're getting married right now. Me and you are witnesses.”

“It can't be,” Mamma said, hiding her words with the back of her hand. “It's impossible.”

“That's what you think,” Papa said. “Come on, get your coat. We're going to Golden and get them married.”

Dino took Mamma's hands in his.

“Maria, we ask your blessing, Coletta and I.”

“Ah, Dino,” Mamma said. “You mustn't do this. You mustn't!”

Coletta stepped up. Her face was furious.

“You keep out of this!”

Mamma ignored her. “No, Dino, You mustn't.”

Suddenly Coletta rushed between Dino and Mamma, and her hand clamped Mamma's mouth. Mamma backed away, but Coletta came after her. Mamma tried to breathe and speak, and her cheeks puffed out and her face was pink. Hugo growled. We stood frightened. Papa and Dino tried to tear Coletta's hands away from Mamma's face.

“Go get her, Hugo!” Tony said. “Go get Coletta!”

His teeth showing, Hugo dove between Papa and Dino. His jaws sank into Coletta's rump, nipping her. She screamed, and both her hands went to her seat. Furiously she attacked Hugo,
kicking at him. He retreated under the table, barking at her. Coletta turned and faced all of us.

“Nice people!” she said. “My God, what people!”

“Please,” Dino said. “Let us not quarrel.”

“Oh, shut up,” Coletta said. “You runt. You little fool.”

“Now look,” Papa said.

'You too!” Coletta said. “You ape!”

“Who's an ape?” Papa said.

“
You're
an ape!”

“You get out of here!” Papa said. “Nobody can call Guido Toscana an ape. Beat it!”

Coletta looked at all of us, slowly, carefully, shaking her head. “Such people! Such terrible people.”

She turned and walked out of the house proudly, her chin in the air. Dino went after her, pleading with her to come back. At the door she swung around and faced him. Then she laughed, shrilling it as she looked Dino up and down. We heard her laughing all the way to her car. Then the engine banged and blasted and she drove away.

Papa laid his hand on Dino's shoulder.

“Forget her, Dino. She's no good.”

“Ah, but—”

“Stay single, Dino. You're better off.”

“
Si, Si
. But—”

“Forget her. Dino. Nothing but trouble when you get married. Kids. Trouble. Debts. Stay single, Dino. Take my advice.”

Dino looked at Mamma, and Mamma was smiling. Dino smiled too. Then Hugo came out from under the table, his ears down, his tail between his legs. Dino bent and patted his head.

“Gooda dog,” he said in English. “Nicea pooch.”

“You kids,” Papa said, “get back to bed.”

Dino dug into his pockets. He gave each of us a quarter. But Tony got two quarters.

“Some hamburg for the dog,” Dino said.

Dino went home, and after the lights were out we could hear Mamma and Papa talking in the bedroom.

“Where were you last night?” Mamma said.

“Uptown.”

“And who was with you?”

“Nobody!” He shouted it with such savagery that Mamma didn't dare answer.

W
HEN YOU GO
to Confession you must tell everything. Anyone who hides a sin gets into trouble right away, for though you fool the priest it is not easy to fool God. In fact, it can't be done. Every Friday at St. Catherine's we have instructions on the confessional. Our teacher is Sister Mary Joseph, and she is the one who told us about God's omniscience, which means knowing all things. She proved it with the story of the Kid who actually tried to hide a sin in the confessional.

Sister Mary Joseph told us this fellow was a pretty good Kid. He studied hard and got good grades. He obeyed his father and mother, and said his morning and evening prayers. He didn't cuss, and all his thoughts were pure. Every Saturday he went to Confession, and every Sunday morning he received Holy Communion. As you can see, there was nothing wrong with a Kid like that.

But it was like everything else. As soon as a fellow is coasting along smooth, here comes the Devil, meaning Temptation. Even a good Kid like this one had plenty of it. Sister Mary Joseph said one day this Kid was walking along downtown, minding his own business, when he came to a window full of baseballs and catcher's gloves. He was a poor Kid. He already owned a catcher's mitt, but it wasn't much good. Well, he'd always wanted a new one. In the window he saw a honey, and right away he wanted it bad. If you want a thing bad, specially something you can't get, it's called Temptation. He wanted that mitt, but he knew he couldn't buy it, and so he should have forgotten about it. But no. He stood in front of that window, and, sure enough, along came the Devil. I know how that Kid felt, because I have listened to the Devil
plenty, and it seems he is always in front of store-windows waiting for a fellow to come along, specially a fellow who wants a new glove, or a gun, or anything that costs lots of money.

The Devil said to the Kid: “My boy, don't be a sap. You want that glove and it costs five dollars. Now tell me where
you'll
get five dollars! It's a cinch your father hasn't got it. So use your head. Go into that store and swipe the glove. It's a sin, but so what! You've been a good boy right along now, but what have you got from it? Nothing! Get smart!”

The Kid stared at the glove and saw himself making sensational one-hand catches with it. He saw all the other Kids in town crowding around, feeling the soft leather, asking him a lot of questions, begging him to play on their teams.

Then the Kid's Guardian Angel stepped up. Sister Mary Joseph said the Guardian Angel was very soothing and patient with that Kid. The Guardian Angel said: “My sweet child, remember that you are a good boy, and God is well pleased. All the baseball gloves on earth, and all the baseball bats, are not equal to one second of the bliss in Paradise. If you steal that glove, God will be very angry. He will punish you, for nothing can be hidden from our Blessed Lord.”

Suddenly Sister Mary Joseph stopped. Our whole class was listening with mouths wide open. The girls were on one side of the room, the boys on the other. We could hardly wait for the story to go on. Sister Mary Joseph folded her hands and smiled.

“And now,” she said, “who can tell me what that boy did? Were the words of Satan more powerful than the words of his Guardian Angel? Did the boy steal that glove, or did he remain in the state of sanctifying grace by resisting temptation? Who will venture an answer?”

Every hand in the classroom went up and waved like a flag. We were all given a chance to say something. Then a strange thing happened. All the girls said the Kid
didn't
steal that glove, and all the boys said he
did
. We argued back and forth. It was going hot and heavy, with the boys winning all the way because we figured the Kid in the story was like us, and nearly all of us had stolen things.

Clyde Myers said: “Sure he stole it! He's a funny guy if he didn't.”

“Why, Clyde Myers!” Sister Mary Joseph said.

Then my turn came. My folks were poor people, so I knew what to say, because I'd swiped a lot of things in my life, things that cost money. What I mean is this: I never did have enough candy because it was so expensive, so I always swiped it from the Ten-Cent Store. But there were a lot of things I never even thought of stealing, because we had plenty at our house. Like spaghetti. Well, my folks were poor but there was always plenty of spaghetti, so I never even thought of swiping spaghetti. But if spaghetti was as good as candy and as hard to get, I would have swiped it plenty.

“He went in and stole the glove,” I said. “He was poor, and that's what he did.”

Clyde Myers and I were pals. His folks were not poor, but they wouldn't buy him a ball glove because they were afraid he would break his neck or something playing baseball. So what happened was, Clyde had swiped a glove, not a new one out of a store but an old one out of the gym.

Clyde said: “No. The reason he swiped it was because his folks wouldn't let him have one.”

So what happened was, the boys put themselves in the Kid's shoes, and everyone had a different reason why the Kid swiped the glove. But they were all very good reasons. The girls didn't have a chance. They didn't want the Kid in the story to be a thief, so they just said he wasn't. But it didn't cut much ice. The girls didn't like it at all, because they knew they were losing the argument. It got to be a kind of a fight. Then the girls got sulky and mean. After a while they wouldn't raise their hands. They pretended they weren't even listening.

And Sister Mary Joseph went on with the story. “Unfortunately,” she said, “the boys are correct in this case. The hero of our little story did succumb to temptation. Heedless of the warnings of his Guardian Angel, he entered the store and, when the proprietor's eyes were not upon him, he gave himself to his temptations, thereby committing a flagrant violation of God's precept in the Eighth Commandment. Despite the anguish and
protestations of his beloved Guardian Angel, despite the torture of his own conscience, he fell before his own weakness, and spurred on by the coaxing of Lucifer, he fell into grievous sin…”

By all of that Sister Mary Joseph meant that the Kid walked into the store, saw that the coast was clear, shoved the glove under his sweater next to his belly, and then ran for it. Next day he showed up on the school grounds with a swell, brand-new catcher's glove. Just as he figured, all the boys were nuts about it. The trouble began when they asked him where he got such a swell glove. He told them his father had got it. That was Lie Number One. Somebody asked him how much it was worth. The Kid said he didn't know. That was Lie Number Two, for the glove had been priced at five dollars. Lie Number Three followed immediately; the Kid now saw his chance to make the boys green with envy, and he told his friends the glove was really a present to his father from Babe Ruth. This led the boys to ask the Kid how come his father knew a great ball player like Babe Ruth. The kid gave them Lies Number Four and Five by saying his father and Babe had gone to school together in San Francisco, where they played on the same team. Lie Number Six was even worse. The Kid told his pals that Babe Ruth considered his father good enough for the big leagues. Lie Number Seven was terrible. The Kid said that, as a matter of fact, his father had once been a big-league ball player with the Boston Red Sox.

By the end of the week the Kid had told so many lies that only God, who knows all things, had any record of their exact number. The Kid had learned that the fateful way to fame and the things of the flesh was in stealing and then lying about it. He was like a snowball rushing downhill, gaining speed at every turn. There was no stopping him. He was on the Road to Hell.

II

When Saturday arrived, the Kid had a chance to go to Confession, tell his sins, and return once more to the Road to Paradise and sanctifying grace. Sister Mary Joseph paused again. Everyone in that class was worried about the Kid now. We felt better when
Sister said he did go to Confession that Saturday. Ah, but something terrible happened. He had been too long a companion of Lucifer. When he entered the confessional, a great fear came over the Kid. He simply couldn't tell the priest he had swiped a ball glove. He was under the Devil's spell. He coughed and stammered, finally giving up. The priest didn't know the Kid was holding back, so he pronounced Absolution and made the sign of the cross. The Kid left the church bathed in sweat, and Satan laughed like a fiend, for Satan knew he had pulled a fast one on the priest.

But not on God, because that can't be done. All night long the Kid thought of what he had done. His conscience gnawed like a fat rat, and he couldn't sleep a wink. Before him yawned the jaws of Hell, and far behind him flickered the bright lanterns on the path to Eternal Bliss. Was this Kid doomed, or wasn't he? Sister Mary Joseph took off her glasses and wiped them, and her face was set and kind of sad. From that we knew something awful was coming. She put on her glasses and spoke. It was tough on the Kid.

Concealing a sin in the confessional is bad enough and a mortal sin, but actually to go to Holy Communion afterward is the worst sin possible—a sacrilege. Sunday morning the Kid got up and walked bleary-eyed to Mass with his parents. They were pious, humble folks who always received Holy Communion on Sunday morning. Now the great test arrived. Would the Kid brave the shocking disappointment of his parents and not go to Holy Communion, or would he sink deeper into the grasp of Lucifer? The Kid was in a tough spot. If the Kid didn't go to Communion, then his folks would know something was wrong, and after services they would make him come clean. That would mean the loss of his new ball glove, plus a shellacking from his father, who was a pious man with a horror of evil. But if he kept his mouth shut and went to Communion, he would fool his folks and still have the glove. Oh, yes, but could he fool God?
That
was the question.

And it was here that the Kid made his big mistake. So far he had deceived his friends, the priest, and his parents. Drunk with power, and deep in the spell of Satan, he now challenged
the Supreme Being. And there, kneeling beside his humble parents, he made the decision which was to prove a fatal mistake. Sin or no sin, God or the Devil, he loved that ball glove. He decided that no matter what happened, he would go to Communion.

After the Consecration he walked down the aisle and knelt at the Communion rail. Side by side with his humble parents, he awaited the Blessed Sacrament. Would the priest know the black horror of that Kid's soul? Would a miracle happen? Would God in His wrath strike down this sinner who had sold out to Lucifer? Nobody in the class could guess. It was Sister Mary Joseph's story, and we couldn't guess the end. But it certainly looked bad for the Kid.

The priest came down from the altar and gave Holy Communion to members of the congregation. The Kid's mother and father received, bowing their heads in humility and piety. Then it was the Kid's turn. He lifted his face, and the priest placed the Communion on his tongue. Nothing happened except that Lucifer snickered, and the Kid bowed his head. That is, nothing happened right away.

But after he got back to his pew, a slow change came over the Kid. He felt a stiffness in his bones, starting at his feet. It moved upward. It reached his knees. Then his waist. Gradually it crept to his shoulders. Now it was in his neck and heading for his eyes and ears. On and on it moved. Finally it covered him all the way. God had answered the challenge of Lucifer. The Devil didn't sneer any more; he fled. For the Kid had turned to stone!

When we heard that, we were like stone too. The whole class was dead quiet. Than we realized Sister Mary Joseph's story was over. She sat up there and smiled.

“And the moral of that story is this,” she said. “Always tell the truth, whether it be in the confessional or out of it. Avoid Temptation. Never harbor thoughts of stealing. Never tell little lies, or big lies, or any kind of lies. Be truthful to the very end.”

The class sighed. Some of us said pheeeew! We were sure glad that story was over.

III

After school, Clyde Myers and I walked downtown. We fooled around, staring into shop-windows. The hardware-store window was chock-full of baseball supplies: balls, bats, and gloves.

“Let's go in,” Clyde said. “We'll say we're just looking around.”

Clyde walked down one aisle and I walked down the other. The clerks didn't pay any attention to us. There was a whole basketful of baseballs. I could have got plenty but I didn't feel like it. At the back of the store we passed each other, and Clyde walked up my aisle and I walked up his. Then we met at the front door and walked out.

“Did you get anything?” Clyde said.

“No,” I said.

“Me neither.”

For quite a while we stood out front and stared at the baseball supplies in the window.

“Do you think that Kid was really turned to stone?” Clyde said.

“Nah,” I said. “It's a lot of baloney.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It's a lot of bunk.”

“Well,” I said, “so long.”

“So long,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”